Sins of the father
by Lizbug
Summary: Blue Backstrom's past is littered with people who want revenge. One of them thinks it's time for the father's sins to be visited on the next generation. Unfortunately for Valentine, he's just been added to the family tree. This fic has graphic violence and non con, please be aware. Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit.
1. Chapter 1

Gravely's head shot up as Sheriff Blue Backstrom stormed into the Special Crimes Unit offices. There was practically steam coming from his ears.

"Where is he?" he snarled, the shout ringing through the office like a gunshot. Four more heads popped over the partition as Moto, Niedermeyer, Almond and Paquet looked up from there various workspaces.

Nadia's board was clear, the detritus form their latest case had been packed away into boxes the day before. Coincidentally, the day that Rocha had finally been released from the hospital and the day that Blue had officially been cleared of murder. A charge that his son had laid against him a few months previously. This curious circumstance simultaneously explained what Blue was doing in their office and what Lieutenant Backstrom was doing out of it.

The first words out of Gravely's boss' mouth when he had heard the news had been, "God, I need a drink." That had been at 2'o'clock yesterday afternoon and she hadn't seen him since. In her more cynical moments she imagined that she'd get a call soon to come and pick him up, either from the drunk tank or the morgue. But, the dwindling optimistic part of her imagined that he'd somehow managed to resist the siren call of hard liquor and was just spending the day on his boat building kites.

The look on his face had been mingled regret and relief, reflecting the nature of his relationship with his father. Love and hate mixed together so completely that you could no longer tell one from the other. Although, in Backstrom's case it was perhaps a little light on the love. But then that didn't really surprise Gravely, until she'd met Valentine she hadn't thought the Lieutenant capable of anything so human as love and even that relationship was too screwy to even really contemplate.

"Where's my son?" Blue's gravelly drawl pulled her from her thoughts and she found herself staring up into a pair of steely eyes. "The Lieutenant isn't here Blue." Almond's reassuring bass rumble replied as he rolled his chair over. Irritation flittered across Blue's face, "I can see that John. Where can I find him?"

An eloquent shrug was his only reply as the five SCU members closed ranks. Nothing could put Backstrom in a bad mood faster than seeing his father. Blue sighed, "What about the other one? Lou's boy?" Except possibly that. There was no way that Backstrom was going to let Blue anywhere near the half-brother he'd only recently found out about.

"Lou's boy?" Neidermeyer stalked over and perched on Gravely's desk, his three-piece suit still miraculously crease free despite ten hours at work. "You don't even know his name do you?" The look Blue gave him had curdled the blood of hardened criminals but it only raised an eyebrow from Peter, whose face had hardened once he saw the truth of his statement. "Well I would if Everett would pick up his damned phone!" Almond sighed, disappointment in his eyes, "Valentine," He said, seemingly ready to take pity on Blue, "His name is Gregory Valentine."

Those five words were enough to take all the steam out Blue, he deflated like a popped balloon. "I was afraid of that." He said, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a piece of paper. He handed it to Almond.

The black man's face paled as he read the note. He tossed it onto the table and pulled out his phone, "I'll call Backstrom."

Gravely leant over the desk, pulling the paper towards her. There it was in black and white and…was that? Yuck, blood.

The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children

GREGORY


	2. Chapter 2

A/N This story is ongoing but I'll probably be slow posting as I have a lot going on at the minute. Sorry and please bear with me.

"I'm you," Lt. Backstrom had stormed into the office and gotten right into his father's face, "I'm a sick, twisted, lying son of a bitch who has to resort to fake ransom notes to get his sons to talk to him."  
They were so close together that the air between them was just getting passed back and forth as they inhaled.

"I am a father who has one son dead, another son missing and another who's a stubborn, egotistical idiot who refuses to help!" The silence was palpable, thick on the tongue.

"Dead? Who's dead?" The lieutenant staggered back from his father as if he'd been struck.  
"Abraham."

Backstrom sat with a thump, searching his father's face as if for a lifeline. "They found his body over in Clark County."

For the first time in Everett's life Blue's weathered face looked old and tired. "I got a note just like that one three days before, but with Abraham's name," He sagged into a chair, half covering his face with his hands, "written in Abraham's blood."

A cold weight settled into the pit of Everett's stomach, "How long?" He could barely get the words past the lump in his throat. Blue looked up, "I came here as soon as I got it. I've warned your brothers already. Tried to warn you but…" He hadn't picked up his phone, "…I didn't even think about…him…How long since you last saw him? Gregory?" Backstrom thought for a moment, "Last night. He didn't come home. I thought he'd just…" he trailed off, his glance flickering over Niedermeyer who was studying the note, an intense look on his face. "And don't call him Gregory."

He stalked to his office, leaving the bewildered group behind, "Why not?" Blue called after him only to be ignored until Niedermeyer spoke without looking up from his scrutiny of the note, "It's not his real name."

Five heads turned towards Neidermeyer, mouths agape. "What?" Moto's face was a picture of confusion, "How do you know that?"

Neidermeyer looked up from his examination, surprised at the sudden attention he was receiving, "You don't?" His eyebrows lifted as he looked from one colleague to another. "Oh. Well it's quite simple really. The way the Lieutenant narrows his eyes every time that he introduces himself, the way he answers to Val quicker than Gregory, even his mom calls him Val…"  
He drifted to a halt as Lt Backstrom came back out of his office, "Why are you all just standing around?" He yelled, spittle flying from his mouth, "Find him!" There was a scurry of SCU personnel towards desks and phones as he turned around again, slamming the door behind him.

"So what is it?" Blue still sat in the centre of the bustle, his eyes fixed on the door his other son had gone through, "His real name?"

Neidermeyer's brown eyes met his, "Valentine Finster".

Gravely looked up as Nadia perched on the edge of her desk. The Frenchwoman looked pensive, her elfin features scrunched into a frown.

Gravely didn't even let her speak, "How illegal is it?" she held up a hand, "Never mind. I don't want to know." Gravely glanced over towards the closed door of the lieutenant's office. She knew he wasn't in there, he'd be sat on the fire escape puffing on a stogie and thinking furiously.

An image of Valentine climbing through the window flashed into her mind; fingers clasped around a $20 and a wicked smirk on his face. She saw him saunter through the bull pen like a cat, both affectionate and aloof. "Do it."

Nadia arched an immaculate eyebrow curiously and Nicole shrugged, "He kind of grew on me."

The Frenchwoman paused as she stood, "I looked him up you know. His file…when Peter told us…Valentine Finster…If I'd known before…" She shook her head helplessly as their eyes met, "Do you want to see it?"

Their gaze lingered for a long moment, "Will it help get him back?" Pukhett shrugged, reluctance and desperation in equal measure, "Yes I want to see it."

The blonde straightened and began to walk back towards her workspace, "Nadia?" Gravely called after her and she stopped, inclining her head over her shoulder, "Do I want to see it?"

Another gallic shrug, "I understand why he changed his name."


	3. Chapter 3

Valentine's head was spinning as he woke up in the dark, not too unusual, but he was cold and damp and the ground was hard beneath him. Not good, he didn't do this stuff anymore, now he was all about silk sheets and feather pillows not waking up in an alleyway and…clink. Huh? He was handcuffed, oh god! He didn't do that anymore either, not since, "No, no, no, not thinking about it. Not gonna think about…that."

He veered away from thoughts of hard hands and cold floors and...

Oh.

Such.

Love.

He chafed his hands against the restraints as he wriggled frantically, holding back soft sobs at the memories that infested his mind. He was cuffed to a pipe set into the concrete floor, and as he struggled his feet kicked the wall once, and then again as he swivelled the other way.

Frenzied fingers searched the seam at his wrist, finding the tiny hole he'd put there and extracting his pick. Valentine had never been a boy scout, but that didn't mean he wasn't prepared. Thanking his unknown abductor for leaving him fully clothed, he set to work; all the while wracking his brain for who he'd pissed off enough that they'd kidnapped him.

It wasn't a long list. Dante Trippi was six feet under and he hadn't made any new enemies, being a fence was all about making friends.

He tried to remember what had happened. He'd been out at a club, he remembered the hard press of bodies, grinding up against a big blue eyed bear. Then he remembered calling goodnight, heading out into the brisk Portland air, going back to the barge.

Had he had someone with him? He didn't think so, he'd wanted to dance rather than get laid. So he'd been walking home, a little unsteady and still buzzed. He'd walked past a shop doorway, pulling his jacket closer against the chill, when someone had grabbed him from behind. There was a strong arm around his neck, a sharp sting and then everything went fuzzy, complete black-out.

He gasped, sharp, panting breaths in place of the sobs that wanted to be let out. His fingers ached from the awkward angle he was holding his lock-pick at, but he kept at it until finally the cuffs loosened with a click and a metallic rattle.

He moved cautiously away from the corner he'd found himself in, first on hands and knees and then upright as he found his feet and his bearings. He trailed his fingers along the wall, seeking the change in texture that signified a door or a window.

Abruptly, he tripped, his feet catching on a heap of material piled next to the wall. He crashed to his knees, palms stretching out to break his fall. He froze, had his abductor heard the clatter? His bitten off curse?

Gingerly he felt around, slender fingers drifting over the cloth finding the familiar forms of zips and buttons. Clothes. It was a pile of clothes, ripped and stiff with _dried blood_ , his mind supplied even as he shied away from the thought.

He moved with renewed fervour, shambling away from the pile as he struggled to ignore what it represented. The feel of the wall changed, rough brick to smooth wood and he groped for the handle of the door.

Locked.

Val took a deep breath and reached for his picks again. Slow in, slow out. He was concentrating so much on his breathing that he didn't hear the footsteps until it was too late, until a key turned in the door and it swung open hard.

He took the hit on his forehead and fell back, scrambling away from the figure that came through hard on his heels. The room flooded with light as hands grasped his ankles. The buzz of the halogen bulbs taunting him as he struck out wildly with hands and feet, the thick taste of terror rising in his throat.

The hands released him. But the moment of relief was short lived as he found himself straddled, his hands caught in an unforgiving grip.

He stared up at his captor, the grey hair and grizzled beard flecked with their original brown, the time worn face, creased and weathered, and piercing blue eyes, implacable and cold.

The man was utterly unfamiliar.

The flickering hope he'd guarded in his heart sputtered and went out. Backstrom would have been able to find him with even the vaguest of clues buried somewhere in Val's myriad of slightly shady dealings. But, if Val didn't know who this was then Backstrom wouldn't have anything to go on and Val could say goodbye to his timely rescue.

The man used his weight advantage to keep Valentine in place and cuff his hands again. No matter how he bucked and twisted, Val couldn't dislodge the guy. Couldn't get away from that icy glare.

He was dragged across the floor, this time to the opposite wall where a metal framed bed was screwed to the ground.

His captor used another set of cuffs to attach his hands to the frame and then dodged out of the way of Val's well timed kick, cursing as his booted foot made contact with his leg.

The whisper of a knife being drawn from a sheath caused Valentine to still and swallow nervously. "Look mister, I don't know who you are or what you want but…" A wicked hunting blade traced lightly along his throat, "No. But I know you little Backstrom. And you and me, well, we're going to have plenty of time to get acquainted."


	4. Chapter 4

The DVD arrived two days later. Two days of chasing their tails. They knew Val had been to Tomcat, the newest, trendiest club on the gay bar circuit. But they couldn't find hide nor hair of him after that. Forty-eight hours. Niedermeyer could quote the statistics on missing persons verbatim, but he didn't. Mostly because every time he thought about Valentine being the missing person in question his stomach lurched and he tasted bile.

It didn't help that he'd seen the photos of Abraham, the eldest Backstrom brother had been missing a week before his body had been found. Niedermeyer had had to turn the pictures over, whenever he'd looked up at the board he'd been stuck staring at them. Imagining Val's face, Val's body. In the end he'd turned them over so now when he looked up it was just plain white. He was still stuck combing over the evidence but he didn't want to throw up quite so often.

Until the DVD came and made him empty his stomach all over again. "Did you get one of these before?" Backstrom the elder had pretty much taken up residence in the bull-pen, which led to more than a little conflict since Backstrom the younger couldn't bear to go home. Father and son were closer than they had been in years if you ignored the not entirely unjustified hostility that rose of Niedermeyer's lieutenant in waves. Blue shook his head silently as he sat transfixed by the screen. They already had Nadia performing her computer wizardry on it to search for clues. Which left the rest of them to watch in horror.

Gravely had lasted a minute and a half before she'd had to turn away, leave the office, and find something else to do. Moto had seized the excuse and gone with her. Almond was gritting it out with clenched teeth and thinned lips, his chocolate skin pale and clammy. The seasoned detective was fingering the crucifix that hung around his neck, "My God." Both Backstroms snorted in sync but didn't say anything, their eyes fixed on the screen. Neither had much time for religion in any of its myriad forms. The lieutenant was worrying his lip so hard he'd drawn blood. His light brown eyes were fixed on his brother's and for the first time Niedermeyer noticed their similarity.

Niedermeyer himself? Well he couldn't let himself look away. Not if there was any chance that he could glean some insight, some indication of where this monstrosity was taking place. So he swallowed down the bile in his throat and kept his eyes fixed on the details which could mean life or death for Val.

 **37 hours earlier**

"Smile for the camera." Val lifted his head as the man approached, red light flashing on the little camcorder fixed to his abductor's head. He was stripped naked and bound to four points on the bed. Leather straps this time rather than handcuffs, not that it helped, they were too tight for him to get out of. He'd been trying ever since he'd woken up again, bruised and aching.

"I got this idea from watching youtube, you know those stupid bike trick videos. My boy used to piss himself laughing at that shit." Val turned his head away but was stopped by a hand yanking his hair, tilting his head until he was staring into hate filled blue eyes. He bit back the cry of pain. "I thought it would be enough just with your brother you know?" _Everett?_ The hand moved to his chin caressing his face, "My brother?" he tried not to flinch away, tried not to show how scared he was. How worried he was that maybe Backstrom wasn't looking. Had, in fact, been found already and it had ended as badly for him as it was sure to for Val. "Mmmhmm, your oldest brother Abraham. Bram's dead you know. Dead in a ditch." The guy gave a mirthless chuckle but Val breathed a little easier knowing it wasn't Everett. _He's okay._ Backstrom was the only brother he'd ever had and he hadn't had _him_ very long. "But while it's nice knowing your daddy was sufferin'. It ain't nothin' compared to what your daddy did to me." _Blue? This was revenge on Blue?_ Val could almost laugh himself at the irony. "Blue Backstrom couldn't give two shits about me."

The guy eased off and Val almost had hope again. Then the hand trailed over his shoulder and down his spine, "Oh I know, your brother told me. It didn't take long until he was begging to tell me things, just to make it stop for a little while. But your daddy took my boy from me, so I'm gonna take all his boys from him. I was going to go from oldest to youngest, but then your brother told me all about the little bro he'd never known he had and well, I just couldn't resist."

The hand sketched patterns on his back and Val found his breath quickening in fear again. The sensation so familiar and at the same time so sickening. He hated this feeling, the sure and certain knowledge that anyone looking at him could measure his worth in a glance. And it always added up to this, hands on his body, cum cooling on his skin.

The man brought his mouth close, careless of the camera as he followed the line of his hands with his tongue. "You're much more appealing than your brothers. I think I'm gonna make it last with you. Send your daddy little updates. Let him know how we're gettin' on. You'd like that wouldn't you?" Val jerked his face away from the seeking tongue, refusing to let fall the tears that were already brimming on his lashes, _please no_. his breath was coming in choked off pants as he sought to escape meandering hands. "Oh don't worry little Gregory, you don't have to answer just yet. You can save your voice for a while. After all you'll be screaming for me later." Val squeezed his eyes tightly shut at the sound of a fly being unzipped


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Please be aware this chapter has graphic violence, torture, scarification and non consensual sex.

A/N2: Sorry for the delay I've been away and without internet for the past month. Also I had exams... which I passed! Yay! Of course, now I'm back at Uni and will inevitably get snowed under with work and be slow to update. Such is life. But lookit, a new chapter!

The next time he came back he brought more cameras.

He set them up around the room, taking his time over angles and sight lines. Val still had tears drying on his cheeks, blood and… other things congealing on his body. The man had taken the time to put on a mask, a black hood that covered everything but his piercing blue eyes.

Val shuddered as the man approached, trying to make himself as small as possible. As if that could make him disappear, make his captor ignore him. He whimpered as the man straddled him, the seams of his jeans chafing against Val's bare hips. "Not ready for round two yet Gregory?" Hot breath ghosted against Val's ear as the denim glad crotch ground down against his exposed ass. "That's okay. I have something a little different in mind right now."

The chill of the man's blade whispered against his cheek and Val couldn't help the small moan that escaped. "You know, with your brother I just carved. But those tattoos of yours gave me an idea. I'm going to make you so beautiful Gregory. A real work of art."

Val's breath came in sharp pants. Ten years of nightmares crowded his psyche, warring with the sensation of steel against his skin. He was going to be marked again. Another permanent reminder that his body is always someone else's for the taking. "No." he whispered, tugging his wrists against the straps. "No!" His voice was raw and broken, terror finally trumping despondency as he thrashed and fought. The knife was quickly withdrawn from his skin, but not before it drew a shallow line across his cheekbone. "God Damnit! Now look what you made me do." Val bucked his hips against the oppressive weight, bowing and twisting his body until he thought it might snap from the strain.

Val should have expected the pinch from the needle in his arm. He should have remembered, instead he just felt his struggles weaken as the energy drained out of his body. His vision started to blur around the edges, black seeping in until all he could see was the red light blinking on one of the cameras. Then he was still.

Val woke up again to that familiar weight on the back of his legs, but no new pain. He blinked grainy eyes a few times, frowning at the absence of the flashing red light. "Shh, stay still or you'll smudge it." Val almost laughed, he couldn't move if he tried. Whatever the man had given him had turned his muscles to jelly and his brain to mush. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, he could barely think. All he could do was lie there and be grateful that whatever was about to happen, Everett wouldn't have to watch it. That hope flickered and died when the weight lifted from his legs and the camera was clicked back on.

"Beautiful." Jake leaned back surveying his artwork. He was pleased he'd thought of this. With the previous one he'd just stabbed and cut at whim, satisfying but hardly worthy of a man of his talent. Some of the credit had to go to his latest muse of course, he could hardly believe it when he'd felt scars underneath Gregory's tattoos. Art from pain. Delicious. This time the art would be there right from the beginning, no need for ink. Jake felt his little project stirring underneath him as he finished the last bit of his design. He'd had to trace it onto his canvas while he was still unconscious to ensure there were no mistakes. He needed guidelines for this work. Didn't want to get carried away and ruin the aesthetic, it wasn't like he could scrap it and start again. Well he could but he didn't want to. Not when his current canvas was so perfect. Darling little Gregory who suffered so exquisitely.

He was getting hard just thinking about it. How that gorgeous body would writhe underneath him as he cut into tender flesh, how he'd beg his daddy for help his voice hoarse from screaming. Jake palmed himself through his jeans as he admired the contrast of black ink on pale skin. Soon it would be blood red and dripping, but first. First, Jake stood and turned on the cameras unzipping his fly as he went. "Scream for daddy little Gregory."

Eventually, Val couldn't hold back the screams. He'd tried at first, knowing that the recording was going to be seen by his brother and the team. Val didn't have very many people in his life whose opinion mattered, those he did have were all in one place. The Special Crimes Unit of Portland PD. Which was pretty funny considering how much time he spent committing crime in his own uniquely special way. So no, he didn't want them to see him scream and beg. But it was no use, because he couldn't hold them back any more.

Patterns were being carved into his flesh with surgical precision. His delicate skin parting with the gentlest pressure from the blade. With each sinuous slice Val could feel the man's burgeoning erection pressing into the curve of his ass. Each cut excited his kidnapper more and more until his lust overcame his control.

Then, the man would drop the knife with a clatter and shove his cock into Val's abused rectum. He would drive himself into Val over and over. Val's blood mingling with his kidnapper's come as it oozed down his thighs. Finally, the man would orgasm, hips juddering as his rhythm stuttered, and collapse, replete, onto Val's back, smearing the blood flowing from the cuts on his back and shoulders. Val would know a few moments of relief when the pain was simply left over from the current batch of horrors rather than newly inflicted. After a while the man would carefully wipe away the blood from his design, pick up his knife and start again from where he'd left off.

And the red light kept blinking.


End file.
